"But how would we find Tokchok-kundo in the dark?" McCoy asked. "The original idea was to head for shore in the dark, but to arrive there as it was getting light."
"And I think we had best stick to that, too," Taylor said. "I don't want to try running in the channel in the dark."
"Then that means we'll have to arrange things to arrive at the original hour."
"Three days late," McCoy said.
"Unfortunately," Jones-Fortin agreed.
"They'll be worried about us," McCoy said. "On Tokchok-kundo and in Tokyo."
"They'll know, of course, about the storm," Jones-Fortin said. "Tokchok-kundo's been in it."
"And General Pickering will be worried about that, too," McCoy said.
"He does have quite a bit on his plate, doesn't he?"
Jones-Fortin said.
There was something in his voice that made McCoy look at him.
"It came out somehow," Jones-Fortin said. "Fitz-Tony Fitzwater, my brother-in-law-said that Sir William had heard that General Pickering's son had gone down."
"That's right," McCoy said.
"That's rotten luck," Jones-Fortin said. "It must be really tough for a senior officer to lose a son. I mean, more so than for someone not in the service."
"There's a chance that Pick-Major Malcolm Pickering, who's my best friend-"
"Oh, God, I am treading on glass, aren't I?" Jones-Fortin interrupted.
"-may walk through raindrops again," McCoy fin-ished.
"Oh?"
"There's some reason to believe he survived the crash," McCoy said. "I think he has. He's done that before. And is running around behind the enemy's lines waiting for some-one to come get him before the North Koreans capture him."
"And they really can't go looking for him, can they?" Jones-Fortin said, sympathetically.
"If I wasn't on my way to Tokchok-kundo, I'd be look-ing for him," McCoy said.
"I thought, when we were in Pusan, that you told Dunston to ratchet up the search operation?" Taylor said. "You don't think that's going to work?"
"That was a tough call," McCoy said. "I don't know who Dunston's agents are, or who they're working for. Agents have been known to change sides. Ratcheting up the search also ratcheted up the risk that the North Koreans will learn we're looking for someone, and they would know we would only be running an operation like this for someone important. All I may have done is ratchet up the search for him by the North Koreans, if they even had one going. Or, if they've already caught him, it would let them know they have an important prisoner."
"And yet you ordered this... search?" Jones-Fortin asked.
McCoy nodded.
"I decided if I was in his shoes..."
`Tough call, Ken," Taylor said. "But I'd have made the same one."
"I rather think that I would have, too," Jones-Fortin said. "Thank God, I didn't have to."
[SIX]
ABOARD HMS CHARITT
37 DEGREES 41 MINUTES NORTH LATITUDE,
126 DEGREES 58 MINUTES EAST LONGITUDE
(THE YELLOW SEA)
0405 20 AUGUST 1950
HMS Charity was dead in the water.
Captain the Honorable Darwin Jones-Fortin, RN, in starched and immaculate white uniform, Lieutenant (j.g) David R. Taylor, USNR, and Captain K. R. McCoy, USMCR-both in Marine utilities-were on her flying bridge, looking down to the main deck where, in the glare of floodlights, a work gang was loading the supplies into the two lifeboats bobbing alongside.
The work was being supervised by a wiry chief petty of-ficer, also in immaculate whites, who stood no taller than five feet three and weighed no more than 120 pounds, but whose bull-like "instructions" to his work detail could be easily heard on the flying bridge.
"I've always felt," Captain Jones-Fortin said, "that this sort of thing is best handled by a competent petty officer; that the only thing an officer attempting to supervise the accomplishment of something about which he knows very little does is to create confusion."
"How about `chaos,' sir?" McCoy replied.
"The voice of experience, Captain?" Jones-Fortin asked dryly.
"Unfortunately," McCoy said. "I can still remember some spectacular examples from my days as a corporal."
The chief jumped nimbly into one of the lifeboats, started its engine, motioned for two of the Marines stand-ing on the deck to get into the boat, waited until they were in it, sitting where he thought they should be sitting, and then he nimbly moved to the second boat and-this time with some difficulty-got the engine started.
He motioned for the other two Marines on deck to get into the boat, seated them, then looked up toward the flying bridge.
"We seem to be ready for the officers, Captain," he called, in a deep voice that did not need the amplification of a bullhorn.
"They will be down directly," Jones-Fortin called. "Good show, Chief!"
Jones-Fortin offered his hand first to Taylor and then to McCoy.
"Best of luck," he said. "We'll see you again soon."
The chief watched from the deck as Taylor-nimbly-and McCoy-very carefully-both got into one boat.
Taylor checked McCoy out on the engine controls again, then signaled to the chief to let loose the lines. Then, very carefully, he took the tiller and moved the boat alongside the second.
"Just follow me, Ken," he said. "You steered the Wind of Good Fortune-you can steer this."
McCoy nodded and took the tiller.
Taylor jumped into the second boat, signaled for its lines to be let loose, and then shoved it away from Charity's hull with a shove with his foot. Then he took the tiller, ad-vanced the throttle, and moved away from Charity.
McCoy waited until ten feet separated the boats, then advanced his throttle.
The floodlights went out a moment later. It took Mc-Coy's eyes what seemed like a very long time to adjust to the darkness. When they had, he saw that Taylor's boat was getting farther away.
He eased the throttle forward a hair.
Moments after that, Jones-Fortin's amplified voice called, "Godspeed, gentlemen!" across the darkness.
When McCoy looked over his shoulder, he could barely see HMS Charity.
Thirty minutes later, a bump on the just barely visible hori-zon changed slowly into the lighthouse at the entrance to the Flying Fish Channel.
And thirty minutes after that-by then it was light-the houses on the shore of Tokchok-kundo came into view. As they came closer, the damage the storm had caused became visible.
The roofs of two of the houses were gone, and the doors and windows of most of them.
They were almost at the wharf before anyone appeared, and then it was Master Gunner Ernest W. Zimmerman, USMC.
He stood on the wharf and saluted as Lieutenant Taylor skillfully brought his lifeboat up it, and managed to keep a straight face when the boat conned by Captain McCoy rammed into Taylor's boat, knocking Taylor off his feet.
Chapter Nineteen
[ONE]
THE DAI-ICHI BUILDING
TOKYO, JAPAN
0905 20 AUGUST 1950
The two-starred red flag of a major general flew from a small staff on the right front fender of the glistening olive-drab Buick staff car. Even before it stopped before the main entrance of the Dai Ichi Building, a captain of what was usually referred to as the Honor Guard-or, less re-spectfully, as the Palace Guard, and, even less respectfully, as the "Chrome Domes"-sent two members of the guard trotting quickly down the stairs so they would be in posi-tion to open the staff car's doors when it stopped.